


Down the hill I went

by InnerCinema



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fae Stiles Stilinski, Human Claudia, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV Alternating, Pre-Hale Fire, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slavic mythology, Stilinski Family Feels, alternative universe, fae sheriff stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/pseuds/InnerCinema
Summary: There is a man leaning against the trunk of a tree and wrestling with something that apparently sticks out of his right shoulder. Even in the twilight Peter can see the unnaturally fair skin and the slightly angular features of the fae folk.orOne rainy night, Peter Hale helps a strange man who will change his life in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

 

> _Down the hill I went, and then_  
>  _I forgot the ways of men,_  
>  _For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool_  
>  _Wakened ecstasy in me_
> 
> - “August Moonrise” by Sara Teasdale

 

Despite the drizzly weather outside, it’s a lovely evening - or at least it should be. The restaurant is excellent. Limoncello is a small but exquisite Italian place and one of Peter’s favorite choices for a date, and said date is a pretty blonde with actual brains behind that beauty. Their topic of conversation ranged from movies to an in-depth discussion of Machiavelli, but at the same time, Peter is thinking of a reason to skip desert, that won’t end in a drink in his face. Quite frankly, he is bored. There is nothing in particular about Genevieve that gives him reason for this ennui but there isn’t anything captivating either. She is also not the type for a one night stand and even if she were, tonight, Peter is, for whatever reason, not in the mood.

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” She asks, setting her glass of wine down on the table.

“What? No!” He tries to deny and adjusts his face to a more charming expression.

It apparently falls flat, because she lifts an eyebrow and gives him a disbelieving look. “Really? So you haven’t been covertly eyeing your wristwatch every few minutes?”

Busted.

For a moment Peter considers talking himself out of this situation but even though he has been known for his charm and silver tongue, he decides against it. Less because Genevieve deserves the truth and more because this gives him a reason to cut things short – and, well, she does not seem to mind so much. Maybe she’ll be amenable for a second try another time.

Peter watches her drive off and he’s glad they arrived in separate cars. When the red glow of her taillights have vanished in the dark, he eyes his own car, but after a moment, he decides on a walk. There’s still some restlessness in him. He isn’t even sure if it’s because of the botched date or because his wolf just feels cooped up after no stimulus except for the meal. It doesn’t matter either way. He puts up the collar of his coat against the chilly air and leaves his car behind and just walks. Worst case scenario: he walks all the way back to the house.

Walking, it turns out, is simultaneously the best and the worst idea. On one hand, the fresh air and the exercise do wonders to clear his head and settle him, on the other hand, the rain starts up again, halfway to the house. At first it’s more of a wet spray but it quickly becomes a downpour. But Peter trudges on. He’s just grateful for werewolf senses – a human would not be able to see much in this darkness, even though he’s walking at the side of the road. The patter of raindrops on the leaves is still loud enough, though, that he does not hear the swearing at first. They get louder with every step and Peter perks up.  The curse words are inventive and a little peculiar.

The closer he gets, the more smells get through the heavy curtain of the rain. The first thing Peter can identify is blood. Lots of blood. Skepticism and ignorance are replaced by curiosity and he breaks off his path to walk closer to the source of the voice and probably the blood as well. A good ten feet into the woods, the heavy rainfall is reduced to a much more gentle pitter-patter and Peter can see, hear and smell more clearly. There is a trail of blood leading further into the woods but it’s not long until he can see the source of it all: There is a man leaning against the trunk of a tree and wrestling with something that apparently sticks out of his right shoulder. Even in the twilight Peter can see the unnaturally fair skin and the slightly angular features of the fae folk. He approaches with more caution, but at the same time makes more noise while walking. The fae is clearly in trouble but still well enough to curse loudly – this can be the opportunity of a lifetime or a really big mistake.

“Hey!” he calls out and the fae stops what he’s doing and looks up, seemingly startled. “Do you need help?”

The guy eyes him up and down in obvious mistrust but then he must have seen something, and his features soften, there’s even the hint of a smile. He raises his good hand and waves. “Oh, hey! You’re one of the wolves, aren’t you?” Peter nods.  “Yeah, if you could help me, that would be great! Damn arrow shaft is fucking holly laced with iron.”

Taking that as permission, Peter approaches the fae. He knows their people are known for their beauty, but it still takes him aback how, even drenched in blood and mudd, and rain, he is striking. The fair skin, the cheekbones, the star constellation of moles… Not to mention how obscenely the water makes his clothes cling to his skin - he has to internally shake himself. Distraction won’t help right now. And so he takes a look at the arrow. It is well crafted and practically reeks of hunter. A low growl starts in his chest.

“Do you need something to bite down on?” He gives the fae a smirk. “We would not want to damage your pretty teeth.”

“Har, har.” The fae deadpans. “I’ll be fine. Just… grab the shaft and pull.” Peter smirks even harder. The way the fae’s cheeks heat up the moment he realizes the innuendo is a thing of beauty. It becomes adorable, when he tries to cover up his fluster with an exasperated wave towards the arrow. “Really?!”

Feeling merciful, Peter gets into a good, balanced position and grabs the arrow shaft with his right and takes careful hold of the injured shoulder with his left. “Ready?” He receives a nod in answer. The fae’s expression hardens and he tenses in anticipation. It will have to do. “I’m going to count to three and then pull it out. One… Two-“, and then he pulls.

“MOTHERF-“ The fae shouts and looks up at Peter with rage written all over his face. “You said you’d count to three!”

“Yes, I did.” Peter replies with nonchalance, looking at the bloody arrow in his hands. “But this way you weren’t able to do something stupid like flinch or tense up even more and risk more tearing of the flesh.” He shrugs and wipes away some of the blood. The way the iron is worked into the otherwise wooden shaft is truly remarkable. The quality and craftsmanship narrows it down to a few hunting families. “Who would shoot at a pretty boy like you?”

“The pretty boy is at least twice your age, dick.” The fae grumbles. He’s applying pressure to the wound but he isn’t as tense anymore. “And I don’t know. It was some hunter lady in dark clothes. She got lucky with her shot despite the rain but I managed to get away.” With a groan, the fae slides upwards on the tree trunk until he’s standing up. “Thanks, though, dude. I owe you.”

Peter barely reigns in the urge to tell him off for the ‘dude’ talk and actually takes a moment to think. This is the moment he’s been hoping for and his next words will be crucial. “I have questions.”

“Alright. I will answer one.”

“Five.”

“Two.”

“Four.”

“Nope, two.”

“Three?”

“Dude. I’m neither a Djinn nor a merchant from 1001 nights. Take the two questions.” Peter sighs and nods, but when he opens his mouth to ask the first question, the fae cuts him off. “I have to go now. I’ll answer your questions later.”

“But-“

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you hanging. You will receive the reward I owe you.” The fae then seemingly pulls shadows around himself and vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You've made it through the first chapter of something that has been nagging me for two months now.  
> In any way magical Stiles is something that it close to my heart.  
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!_

The mantra runs through Stiles’ mind as he treads through the shadows, mindful of more potential encounters. The ones he’s had tonight are more than enough, thank you very much. The hunter chick already rattled him enough for one night and it’s not like he isn’t grateful for one of the Hales to show up and live up to the stereotype of helpfulness but did it have to be a smart one? His dad is going to be so mad!

One last step and he’s in their backyard. Lady Luck, though, does not seem to be gracious at all tonight because the kitchen light is on and the blue-ish flicker of the TV can be seen through the window. Well, he has to tell him anyway, Stiles tells himself and trudges to the porch, still pressing his left hand to the wound.

The door opens before he has time to grab it.

“Oh, kiddo.” His dad sighs and gently pulls him inside. The scolding remains unspoken until his dad has looked at and patched up his shoulder with gentle but firm hands. He then checks that Stiles isn’t hurt otherwise with hawk-like eyes, ever the vigilant one. It warms Stiles heart and goes a long way to relax the tension in his muscles, even though he knows he’s in big trouble.

“What happened?” His dad asks eventually, when Stiles is wrapped in a blanket, a cup of mom’s good sleepy-tea-mixture in his hands. And so he tells him. He tells him about the hunter ambush, how he managed to go from bad to, well, maybe not worse but surely not ideal by owing a werewolf knowledge.  They both know he’ll have to keep his word and he can see a reflection of his own fears in his father’s eyes. What if the wolf is too smart? What it he’ll abuse the knowledge? But Stiles can also see resolution and a vow for revenge should it ever come to the worst case scenario.

“Well, son, at least it was a Hale that found you.” John says at last and ruffles Stiles’ hair before hard lines and a frown return to his features. “The huntress worries me, though.” He runs his hands over his face and gives an unhappy sigh. “I should have felt more than just a little unease, though. I should have felt her intruding the territory.” It hasn’t happened much in the last few years but Stiles can already see his father spiraling and so he leans himself into his dad’s side and hugs him with his good arm.

“Don’t.” he murmurs into John’s neck and presses tighter when he feels the man melt into him. They don’t need many words, not anymore. Not since months after his mom’s death. The returning squeeze confirms that his dad heard the unspoken affection and affirmations. They hug it out for a long time and Stiles is relived to feel at least the tension leave his father. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, _leszonky_.”

-

None of them is surprised when sleep eludes Stiles and he starts researching the huntress instead. It takes him until the next afternoon, but he manages to put a name to the face: Kate Argent. He’s heard about the Argent family in passing every now and then, not really concerned by specialized werewolf hunters in the past, but hours of scrolling through supernatural forums and old letters most of the human world deems fiction, he knows enough to be relieved by his own escape.

Stiles leans back in his chair. What will he do with this knowledge now? His dad has to know, that’s the one thing he’s sure of.

Maybe he should warn the Hale Alpha.

Or, perhaps, her left hand…

Stiles immediately curses the wave of excitement that runs through him. The man is handsome and the sass is more alluring than his date with that incubus last week but he still owes him and Peter knows he’s fae which makes him ponder how much more the man knows. Knowledge is power, this is something that Stiles knows with every fiber of his being, which is why he should be way more on edge about meeting with Peter Hale.

Well, he probably should warn certain people beyond his immediate family, but he doesn’t have to do so immediately, does he? At least that is what Stiles tells himself to keep from meeting a certain werewolf. There’s also the beauty of making excited people wait.

And as far as Stiles could gauge, Peter was brimming with curiosity when he left the man out in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes in with a shorter chapter the next year*  
> Sorry guys, there was a lot going on but to be honest: writing is hard and I am slow xD  
> The story is complete in my mind, I just need to get it written.  
> Thank you, all of you who've been brightening my days and feeding my muse with kudos and lovely comments ♥ all of you have a special place in my heart


End file.
